“Okay,” Candy said, “here’s what we need to do.”
She was working her way through a petite slice of blueberry cheesecake with a miniscule, token dollop of homemade whipped cream on top and a crust that was deliciously crumbly. She’d tried to deny herself dessert altogether, but she’d lost that battle, so she opted for moderation instead.
“First, we need to find out about that hatchet. We know from that online posting that Duncan was the winner of a hatchet-throwing contest about a year ago. The posting also said Duncan’s winning caused some sort of friction between him and Liam—and clearly time has not healed the wound, as we saw tonight. But did Duncan really stick that thing in Victor’s back? He apparently had the skill to do so, from a distance if necessary. His name is on the murder weapon. So why didn’t the police arrest him or at least handcuff him?”
“Maybe he didn’t do it,” Maggie suggested.
“Yes, but if he didn’t, who did?” She expertly pierced the cheesecake and arrowed off a thin slice, which she nibbled on as she talked. “Next, what’s up with Preston? We have to get to the bottom of that. I mean, is he legitimate? Ben’s barely heard of him. Same thing with the police—he’s not even remotely on their radar. He seems to have slipped into town largely unnoticed, talked to only a few people—including you and me, I should point out—and avoided detection by most others. That’s pretty mysterious, if you ask me. Even Officer Jody didn’t pay much attention to him—he was too focused on me. Big mistake. So, what’s going on with Preston? We need to check him out.”
She paused. “If we ever see him again, that is. It’s possible he could just disappear on us. But I have a feeling that, one way or the other, we’ll hear from him again.”
She thoughtfully nibbled at her cheesecake. “And third, we need to do more research on Liam. There was obviously animosity between him and the other sculptors, including Victor. And obviously the police think he had something to do with Victor’s murder. But what’s the link?” She paused, pondering her own question, and finally sighed. “There are so many pieces on the table—I just can’t figure out how they all fit together.”
Maggie was silent for a long, stretched-out moment as she lingered over her chocolate sorbet. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and she appeared to be deep in thought.
“White field,” she said finally.
Candy had begun jotting down notes on a napkin, using a pen she’d borrowed from a gentleman at the table across from her. When Maggie spoke, she looked up. “Did you just say something?”
“I think I might know what Preston meant.”
“About what?
“About that message he had: white field.”
Candy put down the pen and leaned forward, giving her friend her full attention. “And what does it mean?”
Maggie didn’t answer the question immediately. Instead, impressed with herself, she said, “I can’t believe it, really. I think I actually figured something out by myself.”
“And how did you do that?” Candy asked, both amused and intrigued.
Triumphantly, Maggie allowed herself a generous spoonful of sorbet, which she popped into her mouth and savored. “By paying attention,” she said around the frozen dessert.
“And what did you pay attention to?”
In response, Maggie pointed at the blueberry cheesecake. “You done with that?”
At the sudden change in subject, Candy gave her friend a curious look, but she finally nodded. “It was about the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten, but I’m not as active in the winter as I am in the summer, so I have to watch my figure.”
Maggie sighed, set down her spoon, and pushed away the rest of her dessert. “Unfortunately I’m done as well. So, do you think they have a computer around here somewhere?”
“A computer? What for?”
“I could tell you, but it’d be easier to show you. So, where can we find one?”
Candy arched an eyebrow at her friend. “You’re acting very mysterious all of a sudden,” she said, “but I’ll play along. I think there’s a small business center off the lobby. Maybe we can find one in there.”
“Good idea. Let’s have a look.”
Leaving their desserts behind, and after returning the pen to its owner, they made their way out of the ballroom and into the hallway leading back to the main building and the lobby.
“Are you going to fill me in on what’s going on?” Candy asked as they walked.
“It suddenly dawned on me,” Maggie said cryptically, “that I’ve seen the words white field before.”
“And where was that?” Candy asked.
“You’ll see,” Maggie said with a toss of her head.
They found the business center in a small room sandwiched between the lobby’s main desk and the elevators, near the concierge’s station. The lights were on, but the place was vacant. A couple of nineteen-inch computer monitors sat on a side table, next to a printer and fax machine. “Here we go,” Maggie said. She pulled out a chair and sat down.
“You know,” she said, as she tapped at the keyboard’s space bar and waited for the machine to pull itself out of hibernation, “that Preston’s a cagey guy. This afternoon at the cleaner’s, when we were talking, he told me that he’s been keeping tabs on Cape Willington for a long time.”
Candy lowered herself into a nearby chair. “Yeah, he said the same thing to me a few days ago.”
With the computer awoken, Maggie launched a browser and keyed in the URL for Wanda Boyle’s website. As she worked, it finally dawned on Candy what she was doing. And when she clicked on the comment section for one of Wanda’s latest posts, Candy had nothing but respect for her best friend.
“You’re a genius,” she said.
Maggie allowed herself the merest of smiles. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
There, on the screen in front of them, was a recent comment, written in response to one of Wanda’s blog posts. The comment had been written by someone named Whitefield.
Candy remembered now. She’d seen the same thing just a couple of days ago, on Thursday night, when she’d gone up to the Cape Crier’s second-floor lair, intending to sneak a look at Ben’s office.
“My guess is, Preston Smith and this Whitefield person are one and the same,” Maggie said, doing her best to contain the glee she felt at her discovery. “That’s why he told me to you give that message. He was sending you a clue.”
“And he’s been posting on Wanda’s blog,” Candy said, impressed with her friend’s astuteness.
“Indeed he has.” Maggie studied the screen. “There’s actually been quite a few comments from him over the past few weeks.”
“He’s been spying on us anonymously,” Candy noted, “and stirring up trouble.”
“That’s right. And look at this. He posted his latest comment just about an hour ago. And I think it’s personal.” She leaned back and wiggled her finger, signaling that Candy should have a look.
“What does it say?”
When Maggie didn’t answer, Candy leaned in closer so she could read the comment:
For the Town Crier: Check at the foot of the Ice Princess. Your destiny awaits.
“Short and sweet,” Candy observed, leaning back after she’d read the message.
“Do you have any idea what it means,” Maggie asked, “other than the fact that you’re obviously the Town Crier. That’s what he called you when you two first met, re-member?”
“I do,” Candy said. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms as she thought, but she knew almost at once what they had to do. “We need to get our coats,” she said.
“And why is that?”
“Because I think the answer to at least one of our questions is at Town Park, hidden in the ice.”